


Jealousy More Blind Than Love

by writteninblood



Series: Never the Same [6]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dadwald, Death Threats, Everything Hurts, Fights, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Jealousy, M/M, POV Oswald Cobblepot, Pining, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninblood/pseuds/writteninblood
Summary: Oswald makes a series of bad choices that hurt the people he loves.





	Jealousy More Blind Than Love

**Author's Note:**

> This part of the series takes on a bit of a different tone from the rest (if worried, check the tags). Sorry for what I'm about to do, BUT hopefully when you get to the end you'll understand why (I'm probably making this sound worse than it is). 
> 
> Also, Grundy doesn't know he's Butch in this story.

Gallo is not the first person to crash through the door. Oswald knows his face, and he’s looking forward to carving it up into little pieces for daring to challenge him. Oswald shoots dead the first person who enters the study, the next two are shot by Edward. After that they start coming through in greater numbers like a zombie hoard, forcing themselves through the door and Oswald loses track of what’s happening with Edward, as he has enough to deal with on his own. He’s driven by one singular thought: protect Martin.

Some Narrows punks try to corner him but he shoots one and slices the throat of another; just as the third is about to stab him they fall victim to an electric shock, from Edward’s cane.

“I told you it wasn’t just a fashion accessory!” he shouts as he neutralises someone else with it. He then moves the cane behind himself and stabs someone who had been about to pass him and get to the table. As he removes it, Oswald realises there’s a knife at the opposite end to the question mark.

“Oswald, pay attention!” Edward yells, twirling the cane in his hands and knocking out someone who had been about to attempt to strangle Oswald. “Did you see how many of them there were when you left the office?” He presses a button on his cane and shoots glitter into the next attacker’s face.

“No, they were only just starting to come in through the doors,” Oswald says as he shoots someone in the head at point blank range. He scrunches his eyes shut against the explosion of brain matter. “Did you literally just shoot someone with glitter?”

“It’s mixed with oleoresin capsicum!” He grins and laughs manically and finishes the job with his gun.

Oswald shoots him an uncomprehending look.

“Pepper spray,” Edward clarifies. Oswald suppresses a smirk.

The situation is going to get out of hand eventually; they can’t keep doing this for hours, and the number of people attacking them seems endless. Oswald wishes they had some light and could get a better idea of what they were dealing with. He hurriedly reloads his gun and a knife gets in an alarmingly close swipe at his stomach. Oswald stabs them in the eye and the assailant falls at his feet. Bodies are starting to pile up around them, severely limiting their movement. He catches Edward’s eye and Oswald can tell he’s thinking the same thing. He can hardly see where he’s putting his feet, despite the illumination from Edward’s cane.

Nevertheless, they keep fighting. Oswald’s leg eventually starts to scream in pain and he’s running out of strength. Edward is faring better; the man has obviously been practicing at this, and his stamina is impressive.

“Where are you Gallo?” Oswald calls out. “Come out you _coward_!”

Immediately after Oswald spits out the last word, there’s a gunshot and Edward yells out in pain and stumbles backwards.

“Ed!” Oswald cries worriedly. He wants to go to him but people are still shooting them from the doorway, now unable to get to them because of the heaps of bodies.

“I’m fine, it didn’t hit anything vital,” Edward says, reloading his gun and stepping forward again.

At that moment, shouting begins in the main room of the club, and there is the sound of more gunshots further back. The people about to attack them in the doorway look back at the new threat, distracted, and Oswald uses the opportunity to take them out. Then, with an electric hum, the lights come back on and Oswald is momentarily blinded. There’s no one coming for them anymore, the main scuffle is going on in the club, and doesn’t last long. Whoever has arrived as a far superior army and there can’t have been many of Gallo’s mob left by the time they arrived.

Oswald turns his attention to Edward, who’s already looking at him, breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Edward says dazedly.

“Are you sure? I thought you got shot.”

“It’s just a scratch. I don’t feel...”

Oswald reaches out and brushes his thumb across Edward’s lower lip, utterly entranced. He looks wild and unbound; odd strands of his hair have fallen out of his slicked back style, and his clothes are covered in blood spatters. It reminds him of the time they fought their way out of the Court of Owls together. That had been utterly exhilarating too. _This_ is who they are. _This_ is what they do best.

Oswald feels small puffs of breath on his thumb as he slowly slides it across his lip; Edward’s chest is heaving and his pupils are dilating. He doesn’t care about the blood—they could be swimming in it for all Oswald cares. He just wants to touch. He wonders what it would be like if Edward’s tongue darted out and touched the pad of his thumb; what it would be like to close the distance here, surrounded by the carnage of their own creation. He presses his thumb down slightly and Edward’s breath hitches. Oswald takes his thumb away.

“You had blood on your lip,” Oswald says quietly, utterly unapologetic.

Edward then takes a shaky breath and goes white as a sheet, dropping his cane and stumbling forward, collapsing into Oswald’s arms. The sudden pressure of holding Edward up is agony on his leg and he falls backwards, Edward landing on top of him. Cringing with pain, he manages to sit Edward up against the desk and kneels by his side, beginning to scour his body for a gunshot would. With difficulty, he takes Edward’s suit jacket off and immediately locates the injury. An entire white shirt sleeve is soaked in blood. Oswald sighs in relief that he’s only been shot in the arm. He hurriedly takes off his own jacket and rips off a shirt sleeve to use as a bandage to staunch the flow of blood.

“You’re going to be okay, Ed,” Oswald mutters as he ties off the bandage and looks at him with a face that he hopes looks encouraging.

Edward looks up at him groggily, blindly groping with his good arm for Oswald’s hand. He slots their fingers together and smiles, giving his hand a weak squeeze. As Oswald stares back at him, his heart _hurts_. He could have lost him tonight, and he feels that keenly as they simply look at each other, being comforted by each other’s presence and by how alive the other feels. _Something_ is changing between them, Oswald can feel it. That delicate thread that had always connected them, but been ruthlessly broken, is slowly mending itself and binding them together once more.

“Oswald, I—”

“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble, Ed?” comes a familiar voice form above them, breaking the moment. Oswald looks up to see Lee Thompkins smirking down at them. “I can take care of him from here,” she says, holding up a bag which no doubt contains medical supplies.

“I called her,” Edward says weakly, answering Oswald’s unasked question.

As Lee tends to Edward, Oswald wonders why Martin hasn’t come out from under the table. He can’t see him from this side, so he gets up and walks around to the other. What he sees almost makes his heart stop.

Martin is sitting there shaking with a corpse laying across his lap, and he has blood on his hands. Oswald recognises the pen knife he’s holding and had no doubt used to defend himself. It used to belong to Ed.

“Martin, are you all right?”

Martin looks up at him as if shocked to see him there, and nods distantly. Oswald crouches down, pulls the body off him, noting that his throat has been slit, gently takes the pen knife from him and puts it on the desk. He gathers the boy into his arms, who on contact starts to sob.

For a child his age Martin has seen a lot and is fairly desensitised to violence. But to actually take a life is another matter entirely, and it’s no wonder he’s in shock. Oswald is angry with himself that he evidently didn’t do a good enough job of finishing off the person who managed to crawl over to Martin, having been afforded an opportunity to hurt him because of Oswald. He hugs Martin tighter.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs into Martin’s hair.

“Is the boy all right?” Lee asks.

“He’s a little shaken but he’s fine.” Oswald replies, standing up and leading Martin around to them. When Martin sees Edward laying slumped against the desk he runs over to him and kneels down by his side.

They have a conversation in sign language, and Oswald can’t see what Martin is saying but understands when Edward signs he’s fine and not to worry.

“Come along Martin, let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed.” Martin nods and heads out the door, carefully stepping over the bodies, and Oswald turns back to Edward and Lee. “I’ll be back shortly. Ed—”

“He’ll be fine, Oswald. I just need to clean the wound and patch him up.” She smiles at him like she knows something he doesn’t.

“Right, of course. Thank you, Lee. And thank you, Ed. We’ll talk later?”

Edward nods and attempts to smile, which given how pale and clammy he looks, is kind of futile.

“Oh, and there’s something waiting for you out there. It’s up to you what you decide to do with him.” Lee calls after him as he heads out of the room.

When he catches up to Martin in the main room, he soon understands what Lee means. Oswald finds him rooted to the spot, staring at the large pale man standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by bodies. It’s Solomon Grundy and he’s holding up a squirming man by the throat.

Gallo.

“Go upstairs, Martin. I’ll be up in a moment.” Oswald waits until Martin has disappeared from view before limping up to Grundy.

Gallo is choking and extremely pink in the face, but a simple death by asphyxiation is too kind for someone who dared not only to come after Martin, but tried to hurt Edward too. He fixes Gallo with a stare full of all the hatred and anger he’s feeling. Gallo squirms more frantically.

Oswald turns to Grundy and points at Gallo. “This man tried to hurt Ed.”

Grundy’s default expression is angry at the best of times but at this information he’s positively fuming.

“Man hurt Grundy friend?”

“That’s right. _Crush_ him, Grundy.”

Grundy screams and it’s so loud it seems to shake the entire Iceberg Lounge. He lifts Gallo above his head, preparing for the killing blow. Oswald turns around and heads towards the stairs, navigating his way amongst the bodies. The sound of Gallo’s body making impact with the hard floor, and the subsequent resounding crack of his bones breaking, is music to his ears. He smiles with satisfaction. _No one_ attacks his family and lives.

*

Oswald has to make a number of calls, given how the Iceberg lounge is in such a mess it will have to be closed for several days. The words ‘deep clean’ don’t seem to cover what needs doing to the gore littering the floor of his club.

After Martin showers, he has him wait in his room while Oswald does the same. He stares down at the blood and other matter as it swirls at his feet and goes down the drain. He’s still riding high on adrenaline. They really did it, he and Edward, they _both_ protected Martin. The fact they worked side by side to protect his son fills him with a warmth and happiness that seeps into every corner of his being. The way Edward had held his hand, had _voluntarily_ touched him again … and what had he been about to say? Does Edward feel like things are changing too? Something is happening, and he feels strangely positive about it, smiling to himself as he lifts his face into the stream of water.

It takes a while for the water to run clear again.

Since he has to go back downstairs he puts on a simple black and white suit, not bothering with a tie or any of the little extras he usually would.

When he comes back into the bedroom, he finds Martin under the covers of his bed.

“You want to sleep in my bed tonight?” Oswald asks needlessly. Martin nods.

“All right then. I’ll be back soon, I just have to go and say goodbye to Ed and Lee.”

 _Can Ed stay with us?_ Martin signs.

“I’ll ask him. But he’s injured so he may just want to go home and sleep in the comfort of his own bed. Hopefully he’ll stay though. I think it would be good for us to stay together tonight.”

Martin smiles for the first time since Oswald had found him under the desk, and settles himself further under the covers to wait. Oswald checks his reflection one more time before leaving the room.

Oswald heads back downstairs, feeling hopeful and a bit nervous about Martin’s request. But he stops dead in his tracks when he gets back to the main room. Edward and Lee are standing by the double doors and they’re _holding_ one another. Lee has her head hooked over Ed’s shoulder and she’s smiling. When they part, she places a hand on his shoulder, says something with a fond expression on her face, and then leaves. Edward stands there watching her go. Like a lover would.

Oswald’s stomach plummets. He’s been here before. And he _can’t_ do it again. Hope is a foolish emotion. When will he learn?

Edward turns around and spots him on the other side of the room, and, grinning, makes his way over—almost slipping on Gallo’s remains, but using his cane to hold himself up.

“Martin’s upstairs in bed and I don’t want to leave him alone, so I can’t stay long.” Oswald says on auto-pilot, trying to restrain the urge to scream.

Edward nods. “And he’s all right?”

“Fine. Just needs some rest and reassurance, I think.”

Ed bites his lip and looks nervous. “If you want, I mean, if you think it’d help... I could stay. You know. For Martin.”

Oswald didn’t even have to ask.

“That won’t be necessary,” Oswald says, and Edward’s face falls. “I’m sure you’d rather recuperate in the comfort of your own home.”

“I really wouldn’t mind,” Edward insists. “And I _am_ exhausted. I don’t live that far away but it feels like another state with how little energy I have right now. Lee said I lost quite a lot of blood.”

Why won’t he just go and leave him in peace? Why must Ed torture him like this?

“If you’re that unwell I can get my driver to take you home, or I can get you a cab.”

Edward looks confused, and then resigned. “No, thank you. I’ll make my own way home. As long as you’re sure you don’t want me to stay.”

“I think Martin just needs to be with his father right now,” Oswald says. He thinks he sees a flash of hurt on Edward’s face, but isn’t sure. The expression, whatever it was, is gone very quickly.

“All right then. Will I see you both on Monday?”

“I don’t think we’ll be doing movie night next week. Too work to be done what with cleaning the club and repairing the damage. But next Thursday shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay,” Edward tries a small smile. “You know, I forgot what a great team we make.” And then Edward surprises him and _terrifies_ him by leaning down, wrapping his arms around Oswald’s shoulders and pulling him close. This is what he’s wanted for weeks now, and now that it’s finally happened, he finds he can’t get away fast enough. It’s not that Edward is still sweaty and covered in other people’s blood and just ruined a suit that was fresh and clean when he put it on. It’s that it hurts so terribly he doesn’t think he can bear it. He makes no move to hug Edward back.

Edward steps back, looking confused by Oswald’s lack of reaction.

“Goodnight Ed. Thank you for your assistance tonight. I hope you recover well.”

Oswald can tell that Edward knows there’s something wrong, but is choosing not to ask about it. It’s been an exhausting night for everyone.

“Goodnight, Oswald.” He puts his hand over the fresh bandage on his arm and turns to go.

Oswald feels wretched, but he can’t let Edward stay, not like this. He is _not_ Martin’s other parent, and he never will be.

He quickly changes into his pyjamas and climbs into bed beside Martin, noticing that he’s still awake.

“I’m sorry, he had to go home.”

Martin seems disappointed, but he nods, turning away from Oswald.

Oswald lays on his back and tries not to think about what he’d seen. He should have known better—it is after all, Edward Nygma. The man shot him and left him to die, and mercilessly tried to do it again in exactly the same spot. He never should have hoped that perhaps they had arrived at a place where they might begin to explore the idea of them—no. That door is firmly shut now.

He shuts his eyes and a tear slides down his cheek.

*

The next few days pass in a blur of cleaners and handymen, and slowly the Iceberg Lounge begins to look like itself again. Thursday comes around all too fast and Oswald panics, unsure how to proceed. He takes the path of the coward and arranges a meeting away from the Iceberg Lounge to cover the entire time Edward will be with Martin.

He manages to do the same the following Monday, to avoid movie night. He tells Martin he can still have it anyway, but Martin doesn’t want to do movie night without Oswald there.

The Thursday after that, Oswald hides in his office. He sits staring at his papers, unseeing, his nerves utterly frayed after days and days of dwelling on the horrid idea of Edward and Lee together. He hopes that Edward will come and go from the Lounge without saying anything.

He has no such luck.

Around the time their lesson is finished, he hears a firm knock on the door.

“Oswald, are you in there?”

Oswald closes his eyes at how concerned Edward’s voice sounds.

Oswald stays silent, hoping he’ll give up and go away, but of course, it’s Edward Nygma and he doesn’t give up so easily. Edward tries the doorknob and Oswald hurries to try and make himself look busy. He looks up as Edward enters, and when they lock eyes he feels ashamed. Edward seems very surprised to see him, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and evidently trying to gather himself.  He hesitantly approaches the table and Oswald can read an intense vulnerability in the way he’s holding himself. 

“Is everything all right Oswald? Have I... Have I done something?”

 _As if you don’t know _,__ Oswald thinks bitterly. He can feel his resentment, anger and embarrassment at letting himself have hope _again_ rise like bile in his throat. He’s powerless to stop the explosion when it happens.

“Have you done something?” He echoes, laughing, eyebrows raised incredulously. It sounds loud and obnoxious in the quiet room. “Where should I start? Are we talking before or after you shot me and left me for dead?”

Edward flinches but recovers quickly. “You’re still...I thought we—I thought you were...”

“You thought what, _Ed_? You thought things were different now? That because I have a son now, _I_ am different?”

Edward looks as though all his worst fears are being realised, and it’s the most emotion Oswald has seen from him in a long time.

“Well, newsflash _Ed_. I am still the same Oswald Cobblepot you know and hate.” 

All his pent up feelings are pouring out of him and causing irreparable damage, and he almost feels like a spectator watching this all unfold in slow motion. He prowls around to the other side of the desk so he can hammer the final nail into the coffin of their budding friendship and provoke the man who’s caused him such pain and disappointment as much as possible. 

“And you know what? If I could go back and change what I did, I wouldn’t. I would kill her a thousand times over.” 

Edward loses his composure and, grabbing Oswald’s shirt front, pulls a gun from his belt and positions it under Oswald’s chin. If Oswald cared anymore he would regret that he trusted Edward Nygma enough to stop his being searched every time he entered the Iceberg Lounge a month ago.

Breathing heavily, Oswald leans up to Edwards face and into his personal space as much as possible. 

“Actually, you know what? I _would_ change it. I’d go back and I’d kill her _myself_!” He hisses. 

“Enough!” Edward shouts. “I should have done this a long time ago.” He presses the barrel of the gun harder beneath Oswald’s chin. 

“ _Do it_! And allow me to give you a couple of pointers this time, Ed.” He raises his hand to his heart. “This is is a kill shot.” He sounds hysterical even to his own ears as he lifts his hand to his temple. “And this is a kill shot. Don’t screw it up this time.”

Edward grips his shirt tighter and moves the gun to his chest, above his heart. “A shot here won’t kill you.” He taps the barrel twice over the top of the layers of clothing, indicating his heart. “This is already dead.” 

Oswald is momentarily stunned by that remark. Edward _still_ thinks him incapable of love, even after everything they’ve shared over the past months. They stare at each other, both trembling with rage and pain.

“Oh Ed, so poetic. Would you just get on with it? Gabe didn’t waste this much time when I told him to kill your girlfriend.” 

Edward purses his lips and inhales shakily through his nose. “She was _wrong_.” 

“Who?” Oswald finds himself saying, not really aware of much that is happening. He’s utterly consumed by the desire to make Edward want to hurt him.

“Lee. I told her you hadn’t changed. That you’re incapable of love. You _can’t_ change.” 

“Excellent! We all agree I’m a monster. Now pull the trigger.” 

Edward finally lifts the gun and places it against his temple. He’s struggling—that much is obvious. Oswald looks him in the eyes and wonders if Edward ever really felt anything for him at all that wasn’t hate. 

Edward lowers the gun. “I can’t kill you.” He says, voice croaky. He steps backwards and puts the gun away again. Oswald stares at him bewildered. 

“I won’t do that to Martin.” 

“ _Coward_.” Oswald spits, collapsing back onto the edge of the table. 

“Says the man who killed my girlfriend instead of just telling me how he felt.” He turns around and heads to the door. He looks over his shoulder as he places his hand on the doorknob. “This really is goodbye this time, Oswald.” 

He opens the door and stops short. When Oswald sees what stopped him, a sickening wave of horror washes over him.

Martin is standing there in the doorway, looking up at both of them with wide, tearful, disbelieving eyes. He knows _everything_. Oswald is paralyzed by fear.

After freezing for a moment, Edward says, “goodbye Martin,” before moving around him and striding towards the exit. 

Martin looks up at Oswald pleadingly before turning around and running after Edward. He catches him just as he’s about to burst through the doors and tugs on the back of his jacket with a considerable amount of force. Edward turns around and looks down at him and Martin simply shakes his head. _Don’t go_. Edward, clearly torn, looks like he’s about to just turn and leave. He gets as far as putting his hand on one of the doors, before crouching down and hesitatingly opening his arms to Martin. The boy throws himself into them, and Edward wraps his arms around him, closing his eyes, expression contorted in pain.

Oswald’s never seen Edward show anyone non-romantic affection other than himself, and the fact that his son is the recipient, and probably the first and last time this will happen, well, it disarms him. Seeing the only two people he loves saying goodbye makes him feel like he’s being cut open; the cords that tie the three of them being irreparably severed.

After Edward leaves, Martin stares at the door and Oswald can tell from his shaking shoulders that he’s crying. Some instinct is kicking in and he finds himself limping out of the office and over towards Martin. Martin hears him and turns around, shaking his head, before signing, _I don’t want to talk to you_ and skirting around Oswald as he tries to reach out to him.

“Martin, please. You have to understand. I did it because I love him! It would have ended in disaster! I did it _for_ him.”

For the first time, his justifications sound weak to his own ears. Martin doesn’t stop, just heads straight to the stairs and up to his room. Oswald stands there in the middle of the club, shell-shocked and shaking. His cheeks feel hot and he realizes the foreign feeling sweeping through him is shame, enough to swallow him whole. He takes a deep breath to stave off the rising nausea and limps to the study, sitting in Edward’s usual seat at the table.

He looks at their empty cups which still sit on the tabletop and considers what Martin knows now, what he’d heard. He’d heard Oswald goading Edward into killing him which probably led him to think that he didn’t care if he left Martin alone without a parent. In reality, Oswald had never thought Edward would actually kill him, because of Martin. He just wanted Edward to think he was a monster who would willingly leave his child fatherless. He wanted to make Edward hate him, _loathe_ him as much as possible.

But the worst thing of course, is Isabella. Oswald had never intended for Martin to find out the reason for their rift, and thinking about it now, that in itself is a telling fact. The strength of his arguments have been weakening like melting ice over a lake—he knows he’s about to plunge into its icy depths, forced to face truths he has for so long denied.

He _has_ changed.

He knows Martin’s forgiveness for this will be hard won, and Edward’s unobtainable. He lowers his head and tears slide down his cheeks to drip onto the desk. A glint of gold catches his eye and he notices Edward’s cane leaning against one of the bookshelves. More shame curls in his gut as he thinks about how distracted Edward must have been to leave it there. He never goes anywhere without it.

He thinks about the look on Edward’s face when Oswald had started to talk about their history, and particularly how devastated he looked when he said he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Isabella again. It seemed that Edward had hoped that Oswald had become someone who fit his definition of selfless, someone he would consider spending time with again. Perhaps he had wanted to be friends. And once again, Oswald let his anger and jealousy overrule everything else. If he could have somehow managed it, perhaps they could have become friends. But he still would be in love with him, and to have to see him with Lee, to know he was going home to her, it would have been unbearable.

Oswald has failed Martin as a father. He kept truths from him, and he should have been honest with him from the beginning. He drove away Martin’s best friend, his teacher and confidant, all because of his own selfishness. He sees Martin’s face in his mind’s eye—the disappointment, the shock and betrayal. After everything he’d been through, to be let down by the one person he trusted the most is almost unforgivable. The shame and regret coursing through him is overwhelming.

Martin deserved to know that was the kind of man his father was.

But he’s not that man anymore.

And for the very first time, he wishes he _hadn’t_ killed Isabella.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from My Enemy by Chvrches.


End file.
